


Under Siege: Hobbits versus Dwarrows

by Grumpel



Series: Of Dwarrowlings and Fauntlings [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF all around - Freeform, Blue Mountains | Ered Luin, Dwarves in the Shire, F/M, Gen, Hobbits, M/M, The Shire, Young Frodo Baggins, Young Fíli, Young Kíli, dwarrows, fun with dwarrowlings and fauntlings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-11 10:01:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7886818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grumpel/pseuds/Grumpel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first story in the series "Of Dwarrowlings and Fauntlings" sets up the canon-divergent world in which Fili, Kili and Frodo are little feisty youngins who somewhat accidentally take on the task of saving Middle Earth with the help of their loving family and friends. </p><p>"When Frodo met Kili and Fili."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dís Needs a Break. Or: How it all started and whose fault it really was.

**Author's Note:**

> This story and series started from a single idea that I thought would be hilarious to write about - it became Chapter 3.
> 
> Warning: All the ages have been modified to fit the story*, and although the original story of Smaug and Ererbor is canon-compliant, the rest has been messed around with in a major way. IMPORTANT! THis is not a retelling of The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings - I would rather have you think of it as an original story with familiar characters and artefacts. 
> 
> This series basically exists so I can re-imagine a Middle Earth where Frodo, Fili and Kili come together and set a number of BIG events in motion - all the while putting their uncles in as many awkward, frustrating, and yet endearing situations as possible.
> 
> *Age/Timeline clarifications:  
> \- Smaug has taken Erebor less than a century ago, when Thorin was in his late 20s (before Fíli and Kíli were born)  
> \- Assumes that hobbits come of age at 33; dwarrows are too young for fighting or work before 30 and reach maturity at 40 but are not expected to marry at that age but much, much later  
> \- Kili and Fili are in their twenties (young teens); Frodo is 8 (5 in human years); Thorin is 124 (40 in human years); Bilbo is 50 (32 in human years)  
> \- Dwalin is 98 (around 33 in human years; 26 years younger than Thorin - canon compliant); Lobelia is 33 (21 in human years)

They had been on the road for one week. 

Which was exciting enough for King Thorin’s two young nephews who had never been away from home this long or far. 

It was also more than plenty for the dwarven king who would have never guessed the level of exhaustion and exasperation one could attain when in charge of a relentless pair of teenage dwarrows with seemingly endless reserves of energy and the wider world as their playground.

As the Ered Luin delegation departed from their mountain kingdom with modest fanfare, Princess Dís stood at the gates long after the traveling noises had faded into the distance, watching the shrinking silhouettes of her sons and older brother. Thorin had taken her subdued mood as that of a mother’s worries but was confused when he spotted a brilliant smile on her face when he turned back for one last look. He finally blamed the sun reflecting off of an odd angle distorting the expression on his sister's face.

Was it really only a fortnight ago that the dwarrowdam had marched into the royal family room to tell Thorin that the diplomatic training of her sons had been neglected for far too long? Her complaint had ignited the guilt in the king who years ago had proclaimed Dís’ sons the heirs to his throne and kingdom. Even if said throne and kingdom was a mere shadow of the one that had once been called one of the most powerful kingdoms in Middle Earth. 

Erebor. 

Smaug’s fiery invasion decimated the grand empire, leaving only a pitifully small number of survivors traumatized forever by the thousands and thousands of dead, loved ones reduced to nothing but indistinguishable mounds of ashes and charred bits by the dragon’s fire. And although quite a few of the royal family had managed to flee (except for Thorin and Dis' mother and grandmother) it was only a temporary blessing: King Thror (their grandfather), their father Thrain and brother Frerin perished only a few short years later alongside far too many other dwarven refugees as they fought back against orcs and other predators during their long and treacherous journey through the lands, poor and starving, desperate to find a place that would grant them a chance to survive.

The duty to see to the survival of their remaining people fell upon the two siblings, and when they finally found refuge in the Blue Mountain, Dís married her One, one of the local dwarrows who had welcomed the former Ereborians and offered up his home. Thorin remained unattached and singularly focused on his duty as the king, and he thought it an excellent idea when his advisor Balin suggested making his oldest sister son Fíli his heir apparent. His younger nephew Kíli was added to the Durin line of heirs when born a few years later. 

Unfortunately, these days he wondered far too often if the kingdom would be able to withstand the combined destructive force of his throne successors. 

Kíli and Fíli sat atop their shared pony with matching teethy smiles, wearing their duty with a sense of calm confidence that made their uncle swell up with pride at the departure. They had faced the separation from their mother with a maturity that he had not found before, and he breathed a sigh of relief that there had been no  display of their typical level of reckless abandon and creative mischief that the “princes of chaos” were known for in Ered Luin.

The king’s close friend and captain of the guard had worked hard for years to teach the royal dwarrowlings discipline with weapons and armour, and true to form, Dwalin scrutinized the young dwarrows’ states just before they headed out and gave his king a satisfied nod.

Thorin sighed.  

Well, at least it had lasted until first camp.

Kíli and Fíli dutifully gathered Thorin’s and their own ponies as the traveling party came to a stop and led them to the spot in which the ponies given food and water but as soon as this task was accomplished the rascals took off like a storm and tore into the woods. Their uncle shook his head with a slightly resigned frown. 

Knowing them, he knew that they would climb up the first tall tree and stay hidden until all of the camp chores had been completed. The dwarven leader knew that he had been far more responsible and serious when he was of the same age but he never begrudged them their innocence at 25 and 29, not when his own young carefree and joyous life was crushed by a drake named Smaug.. 

“Dwalin! Let them be,” he shouted to his best friend who was glaring after the two princes and readied himself to  go off on a pursuit. “I’ll go after them. Get the camp set up instead.” The warrior dwarrow scowled and mumbled something along the lines of “good luck catching them before they torch the forest” before he stomped off, barking orders at his soldiers instead.

“My King?”

Thorin turned around and found himself looking at his chamberlain who had with him his younger brother. “What is it, Dori?”

“Would you like me to send Ori to retrieve your two nephews? After all,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “you asked me to bring him along in the hopes that his calm and quiet manners may temper their reckless behaviours...”

“I did. But ...” Thorin’s expression turned sheepish, “I don’t think it is a good idea to leave your brother alone with them until ... perhaps later into our journey.” The king threw a concerned look at the young dwarrow scholar who was scribbling intently in his small notebook. “Or perhaps after we arrive in the Shire? In the meantime, perhaps you or one of your staff can keep an eye on all three of them. Only if there is time to spare, of course.”

“Certainly, Your Majesty. I assure you that Ori will be more than happy to take the two younger dwarrows under his wings. He’s brought all the books that he could find on the Shire and hobbits and looks forward to share his knowledge about their history and lifestyles.” Dori beamed with pride at his brother who at 34 could still easily pass as Kíli’s younger brother despite the nine years in age difference.

Somehow Thorin doubted that the two young princes would be enthusiastic over the books but he nodded nevertheless and dismissed them with a thankful smile before he walked towards his advisor. “Balin, I’ll be right back after I retrieve Fíli and Kíli from wherever they have taken off to.”

“Where is Dwalin?”

“I asked him to take care of the camp set up. I don’t need your brother or any other guards to accompany me.” And to counter Balin’s tendency to unleash a lengthy lecture on the importance of securing a king he added, “You may send them after us if I do not return within the next 15 minutes.”

“My King,” Balin began but the king cut him off almost immediately, “Yes, and when I get back with those two, we will sit down and go over the topics that we are planning to discuss with the Thain of the Shire. I want my nephews to start learning about their future leader roles.”

“I agree fully, my King.” Balin bowed and watched Thorin go off into the woods.

If there was one skill that dwarrows were known for, sneaking around quietly would never be one of them.  Thorin only had to follow what his ears picked up until he heard the increased titters of his sister sons right above him, their bodies hidden from sight but their chortles clear as the tremolo calls of a loon on a still lake.

Thorin sidled up to the massive trunk of the tree. “Rule number one...” he stated in his sonorous voice and heard a louder rustling of the leaves, as if a few hands were grasping branches and trying not to fall off a tree. “Always be still enough so that you can scan your environment for any possible threats.”

“Awww, but we know it’s you, uncle.” Kíli hollered from the tree top. “Besides, we have sight on the camp and everything nearby so if anything dangerous approaches, we can warn you and everyone else.”

Thorin pretended to evaluate the argument. “Mmh, true. However,” He quietly picked up a few cones that lay scattered on the ground and weighed them in his hands while he continued, “have you considered how you would warn us about said danger all the way from up there?” And at the end of the sentence he suddenly whipped the pine cones up into the tree with force and precision. 

“Ouch!” There was more rustling, and then two aggrieved boys scooted down the tree. “That’s not fair!”

“What’s not fair?” The older dwarrow blinked with total innocence.

“You distracted us.” Fíli and Kíli complained and checked their bottoms for any cone pieces.

Thorin chuckled. “I suppose I did.” His let his gaze and tone turn serious.“ Let this be a reminder that you still have much to learn. As my princelings, it is your responsibility to act wiser than your current age, to remind yourself to be humble and to show your future subjects that you are capable of growing into trustworthy leaders.”

“Yes, Uncle Thorin.” mumbled the two.

“What are you saying?”

“Yes, my King.” the two princes hastened to modify the address.

“Very well, my sister sons.” He ruffled their hairs and then slung an arm around each shoulder to pull them towards him and forward. “Let’s return to the camp and help with the dinner, lads. And after dinner, you’ll ask for your lessons with Dwalin and Balin.”

He immediately regretted making the last announcement as the entire walk back to the camp and most of the dinner was spent listening to the royal scamps trying to wheedle their way out of the training and education lessons, using some of the most outrageous and elaborate reasons he had ever been privy to hear. After receiving far too many looks of pity from his traveling companions and countless “glad it’s not me” smirks, he finally turned his back to all of them and retreated into his bedroll, wondering if he had agreed to far more trouble than he was willing to take on.

The image of his sister at the gates came to him unbidden, and he was suddenly certain that it had been a smile reflecting a victory in a scheme he had only now realized as one.


	2. A Took Explanation. Or: Chilling With a Hobbit Elder.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which hobbits appear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to laugh at myself. My first chapters tend to be ... well, sparse and a bit thin. So as usual, chapter 1 is "here you go, a fairly uninteresting 1700ish words to try and entice you although in truth my skills at enticing readers is truly lacking". Then chapter 2 is "here you go, another OH MY GOD DID I REALLY JUST SPEW OUT OVER 5500 WORDS IN ONE CHAPTER??" And this time, I could not find a good place to break it up into two chapters, most likely because Chapter 3 "JUST HAS TO BE the one in which I amuse myself, first and foremost". 
> 
> So yes, I am sorry?
> 
> Also, FYI, I might have another go at this chapter: I found that Ori did not really get to do or say anything worthwhile but I also didn't want to remove his presence from this chapter or the story - so, maybe a future remedy.

Gerontius Took, Thain of the Shire, had always liked the King of the Blue Mountain.

If anyone felt apprehension about an alliance between the two races, it was no doubt the dwarrows who had caused a big kerfuffle during their first official trade meetings, refusing any food prepared by the hobbits and hurling accusations of poisoning as several of the delegates were struck down with a severe stomach malady the morning after the welcome dinner at the Thain’s house. It turned out to be a shortcoming of dwarven stomachs: They were simply not built to handle the massive quantities of Shire food mixed with copious amounts of heady Hobbiton ale. 

No one enjoyed mentioning these early days.

It was only the Tookish quick-witted thinking that prevented a disastrous end to the talks. With the help of his wife’s highly effective herbal digestives and a generous offering of the Shire’s premium pipe-weed, further discussions proceeded with calmer heads and a significantly lower level of mistrust as they sat in the back garden and marked the beginning of many fruitful trade agreements with billowing pipe smoke.

The exchange of goods and services between the hobbits and the dwarrows proved to be crucial for the exiled Ereborians as their lives in the Blue Mountain evolved into one that was no longer ruled by abject conditions and near starvation.

In return, the hobbits continued living their sheltered existence, well-protected by the rangers who patrolled the outer borders and the dwarven kingdom’s decree that they would stand as champions for the hobbits should anyone ever come up with the idea of invading or disrupting the peaceful Shirelands.

While most hobbits were aware that their daily lives were littered with items of dwarven making few had the interest and desire to meet or mingle with any of them, or any outsiders, for that matter. At the annual meetings at the Shire the dwarven guests would often only interact with the Thain himself, his wife (Adamanta, born Chubb), their oldest son Isengrim (Thain-in-waiting), the Mayor of Michael Delving, a few of the shirriffs and the occasional ranger, if one happened to be in the neighbourhood. 

Sure, there was the occasional hobbit babe or child that could be spied in the Took home, and the hobbit merchants that were used to dealing with dwarrows and big folks in Bree always gave them a courteous nod as they drove past with their wagons but the rest of hobbits avoided anything that could be deemed improper by the sheer virtue of the fact that a non-hobbit was unfamiliar and thus, questionable in his or her respectabilities.

The dwarrows would usually keep to themselves, setting up camp in the fields behind Gerontius’ smial which served as the meeting place and rarely venturing beyond his land: It was generally understood that the inhabitants of the Shire preferred to not acknowledge their presence, and if they did it typically arrived in the form of a smattering of outraged hobbit standing at the Thain’s front steps, demanding an end to the ‘dwarven ruckus’.

No, it was a good idea that the dwarrows chose not to interact with the hobbits, and vice versa.

Had Thorin spent merely a few days planning out his current journey, he would have undoubtedly arrived at the conclusion that taking his nephews to the Shire was one of the more idiotic ideas that he had agreed to.  Unfortunately, Dís’ skillful manipulations combined with his own overconfidence in his ability to keep Kíli and Fíli in line contributed to a misjudgement that he would never care to admit to anyone.

\---

The first day of meetings went well enough.

Thorin had instructed Fíli and Kíli to shadow all the meetings, and truth be told, his nephews demonstrated a valiant attempt to listen and pose questions to Balin when they could not understand a particular discourse. However, as the meetings went on and all of the advisors were drawn into the complicated details of the negotiations the princes’ attention and interest waned quickly. No one in the room could really blame them when they fell asleep in the afternoon, aided in no small part by a delicious starchy lunch and an exceptionally tedious discussion of the grain economy.

Even Thorin found it hard to begrudge his nephews their temporary lack of discipline: They had attended plenty of council meetings and court gatherings by his side before but here, in the hall with the big open windows that let in bright sunshine and teased the eyes with the Shire’s rolling emerald green hills and azure skies, and with the hobbit’s preference for calm and murmured conversations (so unlike the yelling and loud posturing during dwarrows-only official business!), the nephews would require far more focus and determination than they needed back home. 

It was after some consideration that he brought up the issue with Balin during their evening smoke, and after some careful deliberation, they adjusted the schedules of the princes so that they would only be required to attend morning meetings; their afternoon hours would be dedicated to more physical activities, including weapons practice and camp duties.

As the advisor took the princes aside to share the news, he waited until they had finished their joyous jumps before he gave them a lengthy talk about not interfering with any of the Shire’s inhabitants. He listed all possible ways and manners in which they might bring shame to the king and the entire kingdom by simply being themselves.  Still, Fíli and Kíli nodded eagerly: Anything was better than sitting indoors all day, even if it meant having to do character-forming work or being beaten up by Dwalin during fight training.

It was unfortunate that the two were naturals when it came to evading boring tasks and attracting mischief. And luck just happened to be on their side that day: Dori had only been told to keep the princes busy after lunch, unaware that they were supposed to be sent to Dwalin later in the afternoon. 

As Dori was working out the details of the itinerary for their next few days, the two young dwarrows persuaded Ori to cover for their absence and snuck away by retreating from behind their propped up history books that they had been given to study.

With the exuberance of finally finding themselves with free time and with the restless energy accumulated over the past two days Fíli and Kíli  broke into a full speed run as soon as they had reached the fence that separated the Took field from the rest of Hobbiton. Once they had climbed over it and landed on the other side, they darted through the wild fields, zigzagging and dashing in whatever directions their bodies took them.  In their mad dash they neither noticed the little hobbit sitting in the tall grass nor the stick that he was holding in his hand. At least not until Kíli tripped and fell in spectacular fashion, only to end up crashing into the bushes like a cannonball.

“Ouch,” came a sound that was very quiet and only heard by Fíli because he stopped so abruptly that he almost planted his face into the ground (luckily his arms braced the impact). Shocked, he found himself right next to a small boy sitting in the tall grass. 

“OUCH!” came an echo from the prickly bush a few feet away, followed shortly by the sounds of dozens of snapping twigs and a few well-placed Khuzdul curse words. The utterer himself emerged from the shrub moments later, busy brushing away bits and pieces of wood splinters.

“Are you ok, Kili?” Fili said to him absent-mindedly while he stared at the little hobbit child. He looked to be about the size of a dwarrow infant and wearing a slight frown with chin-long curly dark hair and the biggest limpid blue eyes the dwarrow had ever seen. The boy was rubbing one of his palms slightly, and the stick that had interfered with Kíli’s leg laid on the ground. Baffled, the blond prince offered a halting hello.

“Hullo.” said the boy in a somber tone.

“Umm, alright.” Fíli gathered himself. “Are you hurt? Lost? Where is your mama? Dada? Do you have a name?” He had no idea if the child understood him.

“Of course I’ve a name! Don’t you have one?” The little hobbit scrunched his face, clearly unimpressed with questions by the older boy in front of him.

“Um. Fíli and ...”

“Kíli!” the other dwarrow interjected. “What have we here, a wee babe? Aren’t you the cutest tiniest thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on! And look at these little furry feet!”

“I am not a babe!” came the indignant response. “I’m almost nine!” He rolled onto his hands and knees to get up and stood, fists pressed into his sides. His fierce glare melted the hearts of the two dwarrows but they tried their very best to school their expressions into one of polite solemnity.

Kíli bowed. “Forgive us then, Master hobbit. We shall be on our way and leave you to your grown-up duties...”

“I am not growed up! You must be a very silly thing if you think that I’m old enough for duties!”

“Now wait a minute...” Fíli began to protest when the fauntling sighed with great exasperation and then raised his arms.

“I’m hungry.”

And Fíli couldn’t resist: He bent down, picked up the little boy and settled him on his shoulders. “Very well, not-a-babe and not-quite-a-grown-up. Now, to help you in your food quest it’s best that we know who we are serving. As I mentioned, I am Fíli, and that clod over there who tripped over you is my brother Kíli.”

“Hey! I am not a ....”

“Frodo.”

“Well met, Frodo! Now that the introductions have been made, what shall we do to help rescue you from  starvation?”

“We go to Uncle Bilbo, ‘fcourse.”

“Of course. And he lives ...”

“Right there, over the hill.” And after a short pause, he added with practised hobbit politeness, “Please and thank you.”

\--- 

Bilbo Baggins was in a bit of a state. He had been tending to his vegetables in the garden and completely forgetting the time when he realized that lunch hour had already passed. Rushing into his smial, he began meal preparations and called out to his nephew, only to find the house empty. So while the food sat on the dining table, a frantic hobbit was searching the entire neighbourhood for his little charge.

The two young dwarrows and the missing hobbitling found Bilbo just outside the front gates of Bag End on the side of the path, looking into the distance and calling his nephew’s name.

Frodo waved frantically and happily shouted that he was back and what they were going to have for lunch? The fauntling gestured for Fíli let him down, just in time so he could run up to his uncle who scooped him up and pressed him close in relief.

“By Valar, Frodo, you gave me such a fright when I couldn’t find you!”

“I didn’t go far, uncle, just down the hill where Fíli and Kíli found me.”

“Oh?” The hobbit looked up and noticed with surprise the two tall broad-shouldered teens.

“Fíli” - “and Kíli”. The princes bowed with flourish. “At your service.”

“I’m Bilbo Baggins.” As it was difficult to bow with a child in his arms, he nodded instead.

“Uncle Bilbo, they found me when I was playing.” His eyes lit up. “Oh, can they stay for lunch?”  He peppered his uncle with light kisses on the cheeks. “Pretty please?”

“Frodo! What’s gotten into you?” Bilbo giggled under the attack and released Frodo from his arms before he straightened up and looked at the two dwarrows. “Thank you kindly for bringing him back. Would you care to stay for lunch?”

“We ate already, but thank you very much for your invitation.”

“Well, then join us for dessert perhaps? I made a fresh strawberry shortcake.”

“Oh, yummy!” Frodo did not wait for his new friends and charged up the path towards the front door.

“We should probably not disturb you and your nephews.” Fíli remembered what Balin had said to them the day before, but Kíli had already started towards the smial, trotting after the excited fauntling with a laugh.

“Ah, but you are not a disturbance at all. Come in and keep us company.  Besides, I have not thanked you properly for bringing Frodo back.” Bilbo beckoned Fíli to follow as he set off after the two dark-haired boys, and after a short moment, rather than risking an argument with his brother or the hobbit, the older Durin prince decided to go along.

\--- 

At the end of the day negotiations had drawn to a mutually satisfying close, and Thorin and Gerontius shook glad hands over the new trade agreements that promised to provide even more mutual benefits for both sides.

As the dwarrow walked toward his tent in the middle of the camp, Dori hurried to his side, with Ori following.

“My King.”

“Chamberlain Dori. What is it?”

“Your nephews-”

“Yes-”

“You wouldn’t happen to have seen them?”

“What do you mean?”

“They have ... well, disappeared. They did cleanup duty following lunch. Then I sent them to do some reading with Ori before I realized that Dwalin was expecting them. When I went to get them, they were gone. Ori would only tell me that they promised be back soon. I was hoping that they might have come back to the meetings.”

“Do you really think that these two scoundrels would voluntarily seek out more meetings?”

“Um. I suppose not.”

“Master Ori?” Thorin turned to level his gaze at the young scribe who blushed and opened his mouth but did not seem to be able to speak. He finally pointed at a gently sloped hill in the far distance. “T-t-they went t-thataway.”

“Oh, Mahal’s balls.” Thorin cursed with passion.

“I don’t know why he didn’t tell me before.  We’ll go at once.” Dori glared at his younger brother.

“No.” Thorin sighed. “Go and tell Balin that I will be late for dinner and to go ahead and start without me. Hobbits are more offended about a delayed meal than a late guest.” He sighed once more and then started to trudge in the direction where Ori had pointed to at a few moments ago.

“Ori.” His brother gave him a little push before he turned around and went to find Balin. “Follow him and make sure that he does not get lost.”

\---

There was no signs of any young dwarrows once they got to the top of the hill, and no clues about their whereabouts either.  However, there was an old white-haired hobbit sitting against a large willow tree smoking his pipe, and just as Thorin was about to ask him about his nephews, the elder took the pipe out of his mouth and used it to point at yet another hill further in the distance - on it, they saw a low roof with a chimney from which white smoke was slowly drifting up into the sky.

“Thank you, Master Hobbit.” Thorin bowed before he continued his determined march while Ori gave the old man a shy smile before he rushed to catch up with the king.

It did not take them long to reach their destination. 

The house was taller than it had appeared from the distance, with large round windows that sat low and deep in the walls and a gently curved gable roof.  Ori and Thorin navigated their way around the house until they stood in front of a large round door that was painted in a bright leafy green.  Before Thorin could knock, Ori reached over and pulled at a small pulley that triggered the clanking of a bell inside the house.

“Be right there!” sounded a voice, and seconds later a slightly breathless sandy-haired hobbit opened the door.

“May I help you?”

“Master Hobbit, we are sorry for the interruption but we are looking for two young dwarrows...”

“Uncle Thorin! Come and try this awesome thing that the hobbits call ‘strawberry shortcake’.” 

Thorin did not believe it ears. It sounded as if his princes had already made themselves quite at home here at this hobbit’s place! 

“Kíli, what are you doing stuffing your face and making yourselves a general nuisance at a stranger’s home?? You have duties to attend to.”

Kíli and Fíli appeared, looking completely shameless and cheerfully stumbling over each other’s sentences in their enthusiasm to speak first.

“Uncle Thorin! Ori! You must see this-”

“-have you ever seen a fauntling? His name is Frodo, and-”

“-he is the cutest and funniest little thing! See how adorable he is-”

“-has taken a liking to us as well!” 

Frodo was sitting on Kili’s shoulders and sucking on the knuckles of his one hand while the other hand held on to the dark long hair of the younger prince. He looked up at the two new individuals with some suspicion.

Thorin was perturbed. “Why are you doing with a hobbit babe? Balin told you not to interfere with the hobbits in the Shire, did he not? Carrying around hobbit children is NOT acceptable.”

Kíli adopted his puppy eyes face. “Can we bring him with us to the mountain and show him to mom?”

“Absolutely not!” Thorin sputtered.

“Why not?”

“Why not? For starters, where are his parents? I better not hear that you kidnapped him!”

“No, we did not....”

“Kíli and Fíli. Return the hobbit child to his mother at once!” 

“Excuse me, Fíli and Kíli’s uncle.” Bilbo stepped in between them, and while he needed a minute to compose himself after his first look at the older, very handsome and quite intimidating dwarrow, he felt that it was time to say something, and so he raised one of his pointing finger and cleared his throat with some polite authority.

“First of all, I’m Frodo’s caretaker so don’t worry about returning him to anywhere but here!” He pretended not to notice the growing scowl on the dwarrow’s face before he continued. “And while it is certainly a lovely gesture for your boys to invite us over to your kingdom, I assure you that I only took it in jest.  Besides, Frodo is far too young for a trip of greater distance, and I am nowhere near ready to set off without any proper travel preparations!”

“But we made the journey safely, and we have extra ponies that can carry you and your bags! Uncle Thorin and Dwalin will protect us, and ...”

“Kíli, you heard the hobbit, they are not coming with us.”

“The hobbit has a name, you know. Bilbo Baggins.” Bilbo’s eyes blazed, and his little nephew quietly added, “and I’m Frodo Baggins.”

“Yes, very well, Master Hobbit,” Thorin dismissed the indignant nose wrinkling. “I am sorry for my nephews’ intrusion. They will not cause you any further trouble. -Kíli and Fíli, let’s go.”

Kíli sniffed, and although Fíli stood like an honorable Durin, his lower lip was trembling. The little hobbit did not look frightened or angry, merely curious as he stared at the king, his fists still holding on to Kíli ‘s head.

Kíli started to cry, frustrated by his desire to speak and knowing that he was expected to hold his tongue. He held Frodo’s legs and sniffed harder, so much that he started hiccuping. Fíli placed a calming hand on his brother’s shoulders, then stuck his chin out along with a defiant look that made it clear that they would not go quite willingly.

Just as Thorin took a big breath so he could re-assert his authority, he heard a polite cough followed by, “Excuse me, Master... ?”

“Oakenshield.”

“Master Oakenshield. See, my Frodo over there,” the hobbit pointed to the wide-eyed fauntling on Kíli’s shoulders, “well, as your nephew said before, it seems that my boy has indeed taken quite a liking to your boys. In fact, if I were to walk over and take him right now, I suspect that he would start a tantrum the likes that you have never seen before.”

Thorin stared at him as if the hobbit had suddenly grown a second head.

“Trust me, the entire Hill will be hearing Frodo’s wails once he starts.” He saw that Frodo’s eyes were getting suspiciously shiny, so Bilbo quickly continued. “Seeing that you have been spending quite a few days on the road and camping, I would like to invite your nephews to stay for dinner and supper and perhaps evening snacks. This way, my nephew would get a chance to spend a bit more time with then. I don’t think there is any harm in that, wouldn’t you agree?”

Thorin mulled it over for a few seconds. “Perhaps. Fíli, Kíli?” 

The older dwarrowling nodded with an eager smile while his younger brother bounced on his toes and excitedly poked Frodo in the side which resulted in both of them breaking into fits of giggles. 

Thorin shook his head and mumbled a quiet “Unbelievable.”

Bilbo chuckled. “I have learned a long time ago that children behave much more reasonably if a good reason is offered to them. Treat them like babes, and you’ll find them act as such.”

“We don’t want to go yet.” Fíli volunteered.

Kíli nodded. “Ya. Can we stay here for a bit longer?”

“I would certainly not mind having them for the rest of the day seeing how much Frodo enjoys their company.” Bilbo admitted. “Or a few days if you can spare them?”

“We have business matters to attend to in Bree tomorrow for a couple of days. However,” Thorin almost congratulated himself on the sudden idea that struck him, “ _ if _ Master Baggins is indeed willing to look after you two while we are in Bree, and if you promise to be at your best behaviour, you may remain in the Shire until we pick you up on our way back to Ered Luin.” Thorin looked at the older hobbit. “Of course you will be rewarded more than suitably for hosting my nephews.”

Bilbo dismissed the offer with a loud snort. “Absolutely not. It will be a pleasure for me and Frodo to share our smial with such wonderful boys.”

The two young dwarrows beamed when they heard this.

“Very well.” Thorin bowed deeply to show his gratitude. “I shall inform my sister of these plans and leave you to set up their stay as you wish. Later this evening I will return to make sure that you are all still in agreement with this plan.“ I’m sure I will not have to tell you behave yourselves in a manner that behooves the royal line of Erebor. While you are here, you shall listen to everything Master Baggins asks of you and treat Frodo with the most respect and care. Is that understood?”

“Yes uncle.” They answered in unison.

“I will see you later tonight.” Thorin clasps his hands onto the back of their necks and brought their foreheads to his.

“Master Oakenshield, will you and ... Ori, isn’t it? Will you consider having dinner with us? I made a pork stew, and there are freshly made lemon scones cooling on the windowsill.”

“Thank you but I promised the Thain that I would join him for dinner at his home.”

“Ah, certainly. Please give him my regards, and” Thorin could have sworn that Bilbo’s eyes sparkled, “remind him to return my favourite form.”

“Um, I shall?” Thorin was confused by the request but he was already late to the Thain’s house and rushed out of the smial, with Ori following close on his heels.

\---

It was only during the eleventh course of the honorary dinner at Gerontius Took and Adamanta Chubb’s large dining table that Thorin found the opportunity to convey Bilbo Baggins’ message to the Thain.

The Old Took’s shoulders shook in mirth as helped himself to another heaped spoonful of roasted vegetables. “Tell that scoundrel of a grandson of mine that he can pick it up when he returns my favourite mug - the one that Adamanta gave him to ‘give her sore eyes a break’.”

“He... he is your grandson?” Thorin stammered. “I meant no offense with my ignorance of your family tree-”

“None taken, Thorin, absolutely no offense taken! I have twelve children with my lovely Adamanta here, and - oh dear, how many grandchildren do we have again?” The hobbit called out to his wife.

“Thirty-seven, dearest.” came the cheerful voice out of the kitchen.

“Thirty-seven grandchildren, you see?” The elder hobbit turned to the stunned dwarrow. “If I can barely keep track of all of them on a good day, how could I expect anyone else to know the details of my family?” He further added, “Now Bilbo, there is a lad whom I will always proudly call my grandchild. He’s been through a lot and it’s a real blessing that he has Frodo now but I am starting to ramble, my apologies. How did you come by him? He usually shies away from social encounters.”

“It wasn’t me,” Thorin admitted. “My nephews slipped away from their duties this afternoon and came across little Frodo. They brought him back to your grandson’s home where I found them just a short while ago. He was very gracious about their unexpected visit and even invited me to stay for dinner.”

“Yes, that’s our Bilbo, averse to parties and gatherings but always extending a warm welcome to all kinds of strangers.” 

Thorin wondered what ‘all kinds of strangers’ mean but did not want to pry into personal family matters. Instead he shared, “I left my nephews there for dinner and am considering your grandson’s offer to have them stay with him for a few extra days in the Shire while we conduct the remaining trade business in Bree.”

The Thain’s face brightened. “What a splendid idea! They will be in the best hands with Bilbo - he simply adores children, and all the fauntlings in the Shire love him for he is an exceptionally good cook and storyteller. I am sure your nephews will have a grand time exploring Hobbiton and living like hobbits.”

“Indeed. Knowing their nature, I have no doubt that they have already taken fully to Shire life.” Thorin smiled at the elder hobbit. “You have always been nothing but kind to my people in all our interactions, and yet each new encounter reveals another layer of your magnanimity. I hope that they will learn much from you and your people’s customs and traditions. A hobbit’s quiet dignity and appreciation of peace and harmony can only help them broaden their horizons and prepare them for their future rulership.”

“You are a good leader, Thorin.” The Thain nodded thoughtfully before offering to top up his guest’s mug. “I hope that you will have a chance to spend some time with Bilbo and Frodo as well.”

\--- 

It was far later than Thorin had intended when he and Dwalin made their way to the last house on the Hill. 

The moon waxed almost to its fullest so that the path was easy to follow but it was the warm light that shone through the windows of the smial that painted the house in a friendly glow. As they approached the front door a quick peek through one of the lit side windows revealed an odd scene. 

Thorin knocked on the door, and when he heard Bilbo call out, “Come in, the door is open!” he and his guard stepped into a racket of dramatic shouts and other noises.

“Die, you monsters, die!” Frodo was standing over the blonde prince who lay collapsed on the floor in mock defeat, giggling each time the young hobbit poked him with the wooden ruler that he waved around with zeal.

“You will never defeat us! Arrrgh...” Kíli snarled viciously, then froze when Frodo turned his attention away from the dwarrowling’s brother to raise his pretend sword at the dark-haired youth. “Uh, no no, stay away from me, you are too powerful ... noooooooooooo!”. The younger prince backed away and sat down in a slow and dramatic motion, holding his stomach and groaning as if he was suffering from a great wound.

“Where’s the princess, you evil creature?” Frodo held his ruler against Kíli’s throat.

“Help! Help! Where is my princely saviour?” came in a slightly distracted falsetto from the armchair in the corner.

Bilbo looked up from his book and got up when he spotted Thorin and Dwalin gawping. He walked over while they surveyed the chaos in the living room. “Sorry about that, they were having a grand old time playing heroes and monsters, and I volunteered to be the princess so I could read in peace. Imprisoned in the tower.” he said a bit sheepishly as he pointed at the now empty armchair.

Thorin smirked. “And pray tell, how is it that two big bad monsters are defeated by a boy half their size?”

“Why, he is the hobbit prince!” Kíli boasted, while Frodo eagerly added, “Yes, I’m Prince Frodo of Bag End!”

Fíli added, “Besides, we’re not dwarrows anymore, we’re stupid trolls.” 

Thorin couldn’t help but laugh; Dwalin merely sniggered for a moment before he schooled his face back into his usual stoic expression.

“Seeing that the princess is now free and the trolls are defeated, we shall take our leave so Master Baggins and Frodo can retire for the night.”

“Aye.” Bilbo nodded. “It’s past bedtime for little hobbits.”

“Awwww.” Kíli and Fíli pouted, and Frodo mimicked their reactions with unexpected accuracy.

“We have relied on Master Baggins’ hospitality and patience long enough today.” Thorin made to turn and open the front door.

“Pardon me, Master ...” Bilbo cast a furtive look at Dwalin, “I mean, of course, King Oakenshield.” He gestured for the two adult dwarrows to follow him a few steps out into the hallway. 

“Yes, Master Baggins?”

“Call me Bilbo, please.” The curly-haired seemed to summon up some nerves as he interlaced his hand behind his back and stood up a little straighter. “Well, forgive me if I seem forthright for I mean no offense in what I am about to say.  Would you allow your nephews to stay in one of my guestrooms tonight?”

Dwalin studied the hobbit before him, then snorted. “Is this because you think that our camp is too rough for the boys?”

“Um, no, I’m sure you... well, we hobbits... ah... they are ... Frodo thinks...” Bilbo blushed to a bright red colour and fell silent.

Thorin felt a wave of irritation especially when he saw his nephews and the hobbit’s nephews peering from the living room. “Master Baggins,” he responded, putting the emphasis on the salutation rather than the other’s last name, “I appreciate your generous offer. However, since I am leaving them in your care starting tomorrow, I would like to have them at the camp with me overnight. Do not worry, even dwarrows as young as Fíli and Kíli here are made of stone and do not need to be coddled.”

“Unlike a fauntling, you mean?” Bilbo filled in the rest.

Now it was Thorin to blush. “That is not what I mean.”

“Fine. I’m ... oh, never mind. As long as you are not reneging on your offer to leave Kíli and Fíli in the Shire for a few days.”

“It is not mine to renege as my nephews have expressed their desire to remain here.” Thorin said stiffly.

The reluctance with which Bilbo acquiesced to the decision made Thorin reconsider his thoughts on the meekness of hobbits but seeing how Frodo was already nodding off while sitting in Fíli’s lap, there really was no time to discuss the topic further. The dwarven boys gathered their coats and boots and followed their guardians out the door after pledging to a drowsy and whiny Frodo that they would see to their packs and duties as quickly as possible and make it back to Bag End by elevenses, raising Thorin’s eyebrows at how his nephews had already assimilated the Shire eating schedule.

\---

Leaving the two princes to chat with each other as they bounded ahead of them, Thorin emerged from his brooding just long enough to inform his guard and friend that he would have to stay behind in the Shire.

“Dammit Thorin! I don’t want to babysit.”

“I trust no other dwarrow to watch over my closest family members.”

“And who’s going to ensure your safety?”

“I’m sure your brother and Dori will not leave my side once they find out that you will not be around Besides, I am quite capable of defending my own life as you know.”

“Harumph.” Dwalin’s stance about being relegated to the Shire was obvious in the way he grumbled and gripped his battle axes.

Thorin sighed - his brother-in-arms and best friend would sulk for a while for being relegated to ‘princesitting’ but the entire situation was already out of his hands, and given the current circumstances, he was rather proud at how he had handled the situation.


	3. Persuasian. Or: How King Thorin was shouted down by a raven.

Even though the Thain and his wife assured Thorin that the Shire had its share of cloudy and rainy days, each and every time the king stayed on the hobbits’ lands there was nothing but sunshine and blue skies. Sometimes clouds hung in the sky but they were few and far between and without fail reminded him of the fluffy white rabbits that he saw dancing in the flower fields during their first visit.

There were not many hobbits out on the path this early in the morning: Although the sun had stepped above the horizon, most hobbits chose to spend the breakfast time close to home, lounging over their first meal of the day or fiddling around on the front yards, occasionally exchanging a few pleasantries with their neighbours. 

The dwarrow enjoyed the quiet walk over to Bilbo’s smial. His nephews’ packs slung loosely over his shoulder while their owners trotted after him with heavy lidded eyes, moving in semi-slumber.  As they approached the front steps Thorin saw Bilbo sitting in front of his house on a bench, waving at him with his pipe.

“Good morning, Your Majesty Oakenfield. Good morning, boys.”

“Good morning, Master Baggins.” the princes mumbled and shuffled toward the kitchen from which smells of fried savouries and baked goods wafted.

Thorin stayed at the door and returned the hobbit’s cheery greeting. “Good morning. Don’t call me Your Majesty Oak... oh never mind that. You are the Thain’s grandson, why did you not tell me?”

The hobbit wrinkled his forehead. “Why would it have mattered?”

“Because I would have treated you with more ... more...”

“Respect? Kindness? Adoration? Subservience?” Bilbo offered with exaggerated cordiality.

“... more esteem. And in a less commanding tone.” Thorin finished his sentence. “I would have not asked you to look after the princes, like a commoner.”

“Ah.” The hobbit let out a surprised laugh. “But I  _ am _ a commoner.” He gestured back at his house. “And I quite like your nephews. As is Frodo who is delighted to have older playmates who don’t treat him like a fragile baby.”

“Like a fragile baby?” Thorin hesitated.

Bilbo nodded. “Yes, everyone here tiptoes around him like he will crumble at the slightest touch ever since he lost his parents. It’s nice to see him laugh and have fun without being looked upon with pity.”

“Nevertheless, as a member of the ruling family line I should have shown you and your nephew the appropriate amount of honour.”

Bilbo huffed. “Listen here, kingly leader. First of all, you should treat everyone with the same level of respect and honour regardless of their title and which family line they happen to be born in. Secondly, the idea of a ruling family in the Shire is ludicrous since you’d be hard-pressed to run into anyone in Hobbiton who is not in some way related to one of the Thains. You may as well start bowing to every single hobbit in the Shire!”

“That doesn’t make any sense. How is it that your lands have not devolved into political unrest and bloody power grabs?”

“We value peace and harmony above all.” Bilbo explained with patience. “My grandfather does not rule us, I’ll have you know. We hold regular town and regional gatherings to discuss and vote on any decisions concerning all matters of the Shire. I thought you’d known that by now, having traded with us for a few years already.”

“And yet it is only the Thain whom we negotiate with.”

“He represents all the hobbits but he does not speak for us. We make the decisions together and it is those that he communicates to you. Besides,” Bilbo added, “it would be neither fun nor productive for any visiting dignitaries to spend all week cooped up with hundreds of hobbits, would it?” His articulation of ‘visiting dignitaries’ sounded sarcastic to the dwarrow’s ears. 

Thorin nodded sharply. “Fine.”

“FIne.” Bilbo’s voice softened a tad. “Now that this has been clarified, would you care to come in for some breakfast? I have a feeling the kids have woken up by now.”

“Fine.” Thorin could not think if anything else to say and followed the hobbit into the smial.

Fíli and Kíli were indeed more awake as they sat at the kitchen table, helping themselves to the food in front of them and chattering excitedly about their plans for the day. Thorin unceremoniously dumped their packs on the floor the hallway and stepped into the kitchen. 

“It’s so nice to sit here and have breakfast in peace.”

“Ah yes.” Thorin chuckled. “I imagine it is rather nice to not spend the morning having to listen to Dori and Dwalin yelling at each other.”

Bilbo laid out more plates and cutlery after he had shoved a baking pan into the warm oven and then took the kettle from the stove and poured the hot water into a rather large teapot. 

“Please help yourself to whatever is on the table.  I am not sure what the princes usually drink in the morning, so I made them the same thing I make for Frodo.”

“That’s fine.” Thorin selected a seat and accepted a cup of hot tea as he sat down. He’d really have to find a word other than ‘fine’ if he did not want to sour his tenuous relationship with the Gerontius’ grandson.

It did not take long for Frodo to appear in the kitchen, still yawning fitfully but tuned into the presence of the  breakfast. He readily accepted his mug of hot cocoa from his uncle and obediently passed on two more mugs to Fíli and Kíli. Needless to say, they all fell over the food with a ravenous hunger as if they had not eaten for days.

Thorin was glad that he could focus on the delicious food before him as his nephews and the little hobbit chatted and chomped away, with Bilbo throwing in the occasional question and answer.

As the king speared his last bite of bacon and eggs, he heard a very light tap against the window, and when he turned towards it, spotted a large blue black raven looking at him. Bilbo had noticed it as well and was just about to throw open the window and shoo the bird away when Thorin interrupted him. “It’s a raven from Blue Mountain. I sent a message to my sister about our changed plans. This must be her response. Excuse me.” 

The dark-haired dwarrow left the smial and walked to the back of the house, toward the shed that stood near the fence, several feet away from the back windows, waiting for the raven to join him. “What news do you have from my sister, Roӓc?”

\---

Bilbo had not paid much attention to what was going on behind his house - it was unbecoming to listen in on a private message, after all - but after a short while there was suddenly a lot of shouting and squawking. 

The hobbit told the kids to finish their breakfasts as he left the kitchen and followed the sound of the uproar outside his house until he encountered a most peculiar scene: The king, his long hair all askew and wild, biting out acerbic comments to the raven who was perched on the fence and cawed back with equal hostility while flapping his wings in annoyance - which did not appear to intimidate the king in the least. Bilbo felt his heart almost leaping out of his chest but despite the loud thumping he could still hear an exchange of a guttural and growling string of utterances that left no doubt about the nature of the exchange despite the lack of common tongue. 

This argument alone would have provided sufficient gossip fodder to the entire Hill neighbourhood but to the delight of Bilbo’s neighbours a new arrival added further dramatic dimension.

Another raven, smaller and with a feather coat that glistened in a dark brown sheen swooped in from the sky and landed smoothly atop the shed’s gable. After a quick shake of its feathers and legs, it glared down at the two noisemakers until both felt the stare and fell silent. Bilbo thought he detected a mix of vexation and disappointment in the new raven’s posture but he was not certain since he was not familiar with raven body language. Still, he was terribly relieved that he was ignored by the dwarrow and both fowls.

When the smaller raven began to talk, it was in an icy and commanding female voice that spoke in clear Westron: “Dear idiot brother and equally thick skulled leader of the ravens. Because I had a strong feeling that you two might mangle the communications, I am hereby sending my dear Droӓc to let you know that if you think for a single moment that you can leave my sons in the Shire without your very own presence, that YOU ARE SORELY MISTAKEN! And do not even try to persuade Roӓc to cover for you! I SWEAR TO MAHAL ON ALL THAT IS HOLY UNDER THE MOUNTAIN THAT I WILL PERSONALLY COME OVER THERE AND RIP OUT ALL YOUR BEARD AND CHEST HAIR ONE BY ONE. Do I make myself CRYSTAL CLEAR?” Dís’ raven ended the message with a clicking of her beak that sounded suspiciously like a disdainful ‘tsk’ and started to clean the feathers under her wings. After a short moment Roӓc flew up to the shed and landed next to her, tentatively offering a conciliatory grooming of the feathers on her back.

The dwarrow cringed and took in a large gulpy breath. He exhaled slowly out of his mouth and startled visibly when he noticed the hobbit’s presence in the garden.

“Master Baggins! How long have you been standing there?”

“Not... not very long. Is everything alright?”

“Um. Of course. Sure. Nothing to worry about, just a ... slight change of plans. If you will be so kind to allow me to explain?”

Bilbo had an idea about what the dwarrow was going to ask and nodded with an encouraging smile.

“I know I may be asking for a lot more than you are willing to offer. Would you allow me and my guard Dwalin to camp out in your backyard while my nephews are here? If this is too much of an imposition, I’d be grateful if you could point us to the nearest inn.”

“What? Of course not!” Bilbo bristled. “I have plenty of guest rooms in my smial and certainly enough to offer you and your guard your own rooms. What kind of host would I be if I let you sleep outside in a tent? My neighbours would think of me as some kind of brute.”

“It really isn’t a problem at all, we are used to ....”

“Your Royal HIGHNESS.” The last word came out rather sharply, so much that Thorin looked up in surprise and studied the hobbit before him while Bilbo continued, “It would be quite unbecoming for a gentle-hobbit of my status to have dwarven dignitaries camp out amongst my tomatoes and lettuce.”

“But the Thain ...”

“I do not care what my grandfather does or says, if you want to stay here you must sleep indoors on a bed. Or in an armchair by the fire if you have some type of aversion to beds. I do have house rules but I am not inflexible, I’ll have you know. In fact, if you desire to sleep on the floor I am sure we can figure something out, perhaps blankets in the den, or ....”

“We are fine with beds, Master hobbit.” Thorin hastened to agree. “I thank you for your hospitality.”

\--- 

When Thorin returned to the camp after breakfast to pack up his own things, he ran into Dwalin who was uncharacteristically cheerful.

“What’s gotten into you this morning ? Did you finally win an argument with Dori?” Thorin asked.

“Oh, shut up.” Dwalin retorted but still wore a shit-eating grin on his face.

“What’s brought you to such happy heights this morning?”

“How can I be grumpy when I heard the latest news from the mountain?”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, did you  _ hear _ the latest news from the mountain? Of course you did. Actually, I heard it myself quite well, along with the entire camp and every living creature within the mile. Dís doesn’t joke around when it comes to the wellbeing of her offspring, does she eh?.” The warrior guffawed.

“What...” Thorin turned red.

“Sounds carry quite far over the fields here, it seems.” Dwalin patted his friend’s shoulder in sympathy. “Never you mind the threats from your sister.  You should have seen the soldiers when they heard the princess’ voice.  I don’t think I’ve seen a camp cleaned and organized so quickly and efficiently before.” He chuckled. “I’ll be sure to ask Dís to send her raven whenever I need to give my recruits a little motivational direction.”

Flustered, Thorin nodded. Maybe it would do him good to get a little time away from the rest of the dwarrows. “You know that you are still staying, right?”

“At your service as always, my King. With pleasure especially since you have been temporarily deposed as well” Dwalin extended an exaggerated bow and Thorin merely shook his head in response.

“I can always count on you to find joy in my familial torment. Well then. Let’s get our things and see the rest of the camp off.”


	4. Dwarrows in the Shire. Or: How many dwarrows does it take to tire a hobbit in his prime?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So. much. domesticity.

If Thorin thought that he had a solid understanding of hobbits, he had to admit by the end of his first day at Bag End that he was completely clueless. 

He was well aware of the hobbits’ great appreciation of good food and drink, and he understood that harmonious relationships with their neighbours was of the utmost importance to them. So he naturally assumed that most of their lifestyles and activities went into achieving these objectives. What he did not expect was the amount of  unwavering fussiness that came with maintaining a hobbit household. Hobbit nature postulated that everyone pitch into the running a household - even if said guests were of nobility and / or underage. 

Although Bilbo had firmly asserted himself as the role taker at Bag End who would prepare all meals and take care of the everyone’s laundry, Thorin began to suspect that this was less of a host’s duty and perhaps had more to do with assuaging a certain hobbit’s fear of burned food and wrinkled shirts.

Thorin and Dwalin had been barely through the front door when Bilbo shared the five Bag End House Rules with his new guests: He had Frodo recite them, and Fíli and Kíli singsonged the last two rules along with the little hobbit.

Bag End House Rules:

  1. Always take your boots off at the front door.
  2. Wash your hands before you take anything to eat.
  3. Brush your teeth before you go to sleep.
  4. Make your bed every morning after you get up.
  5. Always open the door with a smile when someone knocks.



That last rule seemed particularly silly to Thorin, but seeing that he wasn’t asked to fulfill an obligatory quota of door opening, he chose to not express his opinion. Besides he was busy marvelling at the fact that Bilbo gushed over the good manners of the princes with extreme fondness, and he held them up as role models for little Frodo, Dwalin and himself. His nephews, the masters of mischief, were thought to be better mannered than him, the king!

Fíli and Kíli preened at the praises that the hobbit heaped upon them while Frodo merely stared at the tall dwarven warrior next to Thorin.

Dwalin of course had noticed the attention from the fauntling the moment he stepped into the dwelling but be thought it best to ignore Frodo’s behaviour, being used to the fact that his appearance frightened most children the first they met him. Instead, he focused on observing the master of the house and discreetly assessing the safety of the home in which the royal dwarrows and him would be staying. 

“Master Baggins,” Thorin said, “I did not introduce him to you properly yesterday. Dwalin is the Captain of the Army of the Blue Mountain and Head of my Royal Guards.”

Dwalin bowed. “At your service, Master Baggins.”

“How do you do? Please - call me Bilbo. Just because your king has decided that my first name does not exist for him does not mean that you will have to call me by my family name, too.”

“Aye. Master Bilbo then.”

“Just Bilbo will be fine.”

“Not if I wish to be called Mister Dwalin.”

“Oh. Very well, Mister Dwalin.” Bilbo bowed back with a smirk. 

Thorin interjected. “Master Baggins, since you are busy taking a dig at me while you two are deciding on the proper way to address each other, I’d like to suggest that both you and Frodo stop calling me ‘Your Highness’, ‘Your Majesty’, or use any other royal titles to refer to me or my nephews. I prefer that we remain as low-key as possible. And feel free to you treat us the same way to treat all your guests.”

“As you wish. What shall we call you then?” Bilbo asked.

“‘Mister Thorin’ will be fine.”

“If the king becomes unreasonable, you may also want to refer to Thorin as ‘stubborn lunkhead’... what?!” Dwalin protested when the king kicked his leg.

“I think I will pretend that you never suggested that.” Bilbo laughed.

“Sir Dwalin?” The warrior turned to look at the little dark-haired fauntling who had gathered the courage to approach him and was now peering up at him from the dwarrow’s knee height. “Would you like me to show you the guest bathroom so you can clean up? You’ve got an awful lot of ink on your arms and heck.” Frodo suggested, his left thumb sneaking into his mouth as he anxiously pointed at the warrior’s muscular arms and shoulders.

Kíli and Fíli burst out laughing until they remembered who they were laughing at, and Dwalin frowned in confusion at the little creature before him.

“Well, Mister Dwalin?” Bilbo gently prodded, beaming with pride at the his nephew’s polite thoughtfulness.

“Well, Mister Dwalin?” Thorin echoed with an nasty grim and received a Khuzdul curse in return.

“Err, little one...”

“I’m Frodo!”

“Yes, um, Frodo, thank you for your kind offer, but the ink won’t come off no matter how much I scrub and try to wash it off. It’s ... they’re tattoos, you see? Permanent colours right under my skin.” The big warrior squatted down and proceeded to show the fauntling his inked arms, neck and finally, the tattoos that snaked around the top of his head.  

Frodo was immensely impressed. “Woa. You never wash them off?”

“Never.” Dwalin assured.

“Uncle Bilbo, can I -” Frodo began.

“No!” Bilbo exclaimed while Kíli and Fíli assured Frodo that he could certainly get one once he reached maturity.

“Absolutely not!” The hobbit repeated, more forcefully. “You will most certainly not get a tattoo.”

“But why not?” Frodo asked with great interest.

“Hobbits do not get tattoos. It’s unbecoming.” was his uncle’s explanation. 

Dwalin of course did not let that comment stand. “Well! Us dwarrows consider it a great honour to wear a mark of our deeds and dedications on our skin. An adult dwarrow without a tattoos shows his lack of maturity and has little to show for.”

Frodo pondered. “So if I go on an adventure and do great deeds, can I then get a tattoo to prove that I am mature enough?”

Bilbo groaned inwardly but kept his facial expression neutral lest he made the idea of tattoos even more attractive to his nephew. “Perhaps. If you go on an adventure outside the Shire, and if you perform heroic feats, you shall have the opportunity to get inked.”  _ Not that you would be particularly welcome in the Shire after that anyways, with or without tattoos, _ he thought to himself. He knew Frodo was a well-mannered little hobbit and had faith that he would eventually grow out of the exploratory adventure-seeking phase, just like he himself did.

\---

The five house rules were not the only hobbit oddities that the dwarrows had to get accustomed to. 

Clearing plates and dish washing duties were tasks that Thorin understood, although why a busy king needed to do them when he had two perfectly healthy princelings with lots of energy and time on their hands was still a mystery to him.

The mandatory daily evening walks were a little more troubling to the dwarven king.

Bilbo insisted on a daily evening walk with all the inhabitants of his home, believing with an unshakable faith that a healthy digestive system depended on regular and timely physical activity. Unfortunately, this also meant that he  queried Fíli, Kíli and Frodo nightly on the status of their bowel movements, and to the horror of the two adult dwarrows, the hobbit began to include Dwalin and Thorin in his questioning as well. Their remedy was to busy themselves with work (such as the sharpening of their weapons) just before the children’s bedtime, claiming that they were in the middle of their task and pretending to see to their tasks as Bilbo shepherded the kids toward the bathrooms and got them ready for sleep, only saying their goodnights to the three young ones after Bilbo had tugged them into their beds.

The princes adapted to Shire life speedily: Within a day the young dwarrows began wandering around barefoot, first in the smial, then outside; they folded the bottom of their trousers until the calves were exposed to sunshine and fresh air. Thorin found their heavy outer layers - the furs and the leather vests - discarded into a careless pile pushed under the bed where they remained for the rest of the visit. 

At first Dwalin could be found muttering under his breath whenever he saw the dwarrowlings running around with Frodo, mumblings that sounded suspiciously like ‘letting them get too soft’. But not long after Kíli and Fíli asked the guard if they could resume their fight training - and bring Frodo along, and suddenly Dwalin found himself face-to-face with an irate Bilbo who threatened to relieve him of his manly bits if he dared to give the fauntling even a butter knife. Luckily the warrior carried more than weapons for his training lessons, so while Kíli and Fíli did their sparring (at a distance deemed safe by the master hobbit), Frodo practiced stabbing and slashing the sturdy old oak tree out in front of Bag End with a tiny wooden short sword.

Thorin had found an old forge that had not been used much with the passing of the last smith-in-residence a few years ago. He excused himself after lunch on the second day of their stay to walk over and see if it was still usable. He returned in time for dinner but was in such a filthy and grimy state that Bilbo ejected him out of the kitchen and demanded that the dwarrow thoroughly scrub himself in a hot bath before he could sit down for the evening meal. By the time Thorin re-emerged clean and dry only a few food scraps were left on the kitchen. Dwalin gleefully told him that it served him right - until Bilbo pulled out a clean frying pan and started to cook up a giant piece of tender steak, leaving the king to gloat as he savoured every bite in front of his moping friend.

\--- 

Frodo enjoyed the attention from Kíli and Fíli - he had quite a number of cousins he could play with but he was painfully aware of being the only one without any siblings, typically tagging along like an extra wheel. The princes had adopted him almost instantly after their encounter, and he suddenly knew how it felt to have older siblings who doted on him and wanted to take him everywhere they went. 

It was on the second day when the adults noticed that the youngest of Bag End no longer walked: He had taken to simply reaching up his arms whenever he wanted to go somewhere, and one of the young dwarrows would approach and swoop him up within moments. Oftentimes they found him already sitting on one of their shoulders and merrily going along with whatever fun activity Kíli and Fíli were invented.

Bilbo would have none of that at the nightly walk, and while Frodo may have been spoiled more than usual he was still a well-behaved boy and listened to Bilbo - that is, until he tripped over a root stump and started limping after he got up from the ground. Needless to say, it was Bilbo who ended up carrying Frodo all the way back home and cutting him a giant slice of the apple pie that the soft-hearted hobbit had baked that day.

In fact, Bilbo was baking a lot more these days.

Before the dwarrows’ arrival he would make a batch of pastries every few days for himself and Frodo. But now he churned out baked goods from his oven with increased frequency, barely able to keep up with the daily demand. Cookies were particularly rare to find at Bag End these days - Dwalin discovered a fondness for Bilbo’s homemade cookies, so much so that he developed a sixth sense for freshly baked cookie batches, regardless of whether they were in plain sight or sneakily hidden away in jars and bowls placed inside cupboards, drawers and on top of  shelves. Of course, this just spurred Kíli, Fíli and Frodo on to covet them above all other sweet treats, and they resorted to hovering around the oven whenever Bilbo pulled out the mixing bowl and cookie sheet, refusing to move until the first batch of fresh cookies had cooled down enough for them to swipe a handful and run before Dwalin had a chance to discover them. 

Bilbo thought that the way to defeat the dwarrow’s cookie addiction was to make so many that they could simply not be consumed in one day. However,  _ that _ strategy proved to be foolish, resulting in one painfully extended dwarven stomach and the refusal to eat that night's savoury dinner. It was the first time in the Shire’s history that a fully grown dwarrow was sent to his room to think about his misdemeanours.

\---

The sun had disappeared below the horizon; supper was long past and they had just returned from the daily evening walk. Frodo and the two princes laid in the grass just outside their bedrooms and were staring up at the twinkling stars in the night sky. The hobbit’s head rested on the crooked elbow of his the older dwarven prince, and Frodo was thinking.

“Fee?” 

“Hm?”

“Are you guys going to stay here for a while longer?”

“Aye, for a little while.”

“I am so glad that you are here.”

“We are too, Fro, we are too.”

“Can you guys stay here forever?”

Kíli chewed on a piece of grass absentmindedly while Fíli mulled over his answer.

“I wish we could. But we have to return to the mountain eventually, back to our mom and our home.”

Silence hung in the air.

“Kíli?”

“Yes, Froddi?”

“Can you stay until the Yule celebrations?”

The younger dwarrow sighed. “I have to go home, too, little one. Even if I wished that I could stay.”

“Can you not go back home, get yer mom and move in here with us? We’ve got plenty of space.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for starters, we don’t know if your uncle and our amad would get along.”

“Our uncles get along well enough.”

“Well...” Kíli and Fíli chuckled “certainly better than we expected. Even Dwalin likes your uncle.”

“Ya. But Dwalin only likes him because of the cookies. Your uncle likes Uncle Bilbo because he’s Uncle Bilbo.” Frodo offered in a matter-of-fact voice while he lifted his head and peered through the windows to see if his uncle was perhaps in the kitchen preparing a night snack for everyone.

Kíli and Fíli looked at each other, surprised. “Why do you say that?”

“He looks at him a lot. But only when Uncle Bilbo is not looking.” 

The more Fíli thought about it, the more it made sense why their uncle’s mood had been consistently... less grumpy. “Hm. Your uncle though, isn’t he doing a lot more for Dwalin?” He thought out loud. “I mean, he spends every day baking cookies for him ....”

“He likes to bake! But his face only turns red when Thorin talks to him in his really quiet voice, you know?”

Kíli pounced on that. “Yes! And then he comes right over and picks you up and holds you in front of him like some kind of shield.”

“Or a bedsheet to hide under!” Fíli laughed. “Why have we never noticed this before? Frodo, you are a genius!”

The fauntling beamed. “So, and because your uncle and mom are brother and sister, she will like Uncle Bilbo and he will like her, too.” He concluded with undisputable logic.

“You are a smart little hobbit! However,” Fíli waved his fingers importantly, “I don’t think the uncles know about this yet.”

If Fíli, Kíli and Frodo whispered and giggled more than the other nights, Thorin and Bilbo did not notice. Only Dwalin raised a speculative eye at the young lads but he wisely kept his thoughts to himself while he polished off another plate of fresh cookies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not realize until my last round of edits that somehow and somewhere, the hobbit became a tad more Bilbo Poppins.


	5. Thorin’s Surprisingly Softer Side. Or: Fun with spoons.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fun in the Shire.

The comfortable routine that had settled in at the hobbit-dwarven cohabitation came to an abrupt end on day four.

It had started deceivingly similar to the previous mornings: The sun hung brightly in the cloudless sky as the residents sat at the kitchen table hovering over their last few bites and sips of breakfast.

The younger ones had just slipped out of their seats and now stood at the sink, jostling over who got to first rinse out their empty dishes. The Bilbo-established post-breakfast routine involved piling the used plates into a neat stack on the counter, ready for a proper wash by those who were assigned to the dish washing duty on that day.

Then there was the task of making the beds as Bilbo had told everyone that under no circumstances would anyone (and he meant absolutely anyone!) be allowed to exit the smial unless their bedsheets and pillows had been fluffed up and straightened up. The young princes were at loss at first since they never had to learn to do it but Frodo had demonstrated without as much as blinking an eye, and now it had become a sort of competition between the three lads to see who could do it the fastest with the least wrinkles.

As the sound of bare feet pattering across the wooden floor faded into the direction of the bedrooms, Bilbo turned to the remaining two dwarrows. “Did you have any plans for today?”

“No concrete ones. We had talked about going to speak to the Michael Delving blacksmith to inquire about the sort of weapons typically made in the forges of the Shire.”

“That’s easy enough to answer. None really.” Bilbo answered.

“None?” Dwalin was flummoxed.

“Well, we do produce several types of knives, and sometimes a spearhead or two for our patrolling bounders. I think one of our shirriffs may have had a sword made once but our blacksmith is usually only tasked with producing common household items.” And when the dwarrows stared at him blankly, he added, “You know, frying pans, door hinges and handles, fire pokers. Those sorts of things.”

“Ah, of course.” Thorin elbowed Dwalin into closing his mouth. “Perhaps we should wander over to your grandfather’s house and see if we can learn more about your safekeeping methods in the Shire.” 

“That’s sounds interesting.” Bilbo answered rather lamely.

Before anything else could be said on the topic there was a knock.

“Now, who could it be at this hour?” the fair-haired hobbit asked and got up.

The dwarrows in the kitchen could not see the visitor but behind the front door Bilbo found behind the familiar sight of a hobbit dressed in a bright yellow dress dotted with tiny pink tulle flowers. On top of the hobbit’s head sat an enormous yellow floppy hat.

“Lobelia!” Bilbo instinctively took a large step backwards which the other hobbit took as an invitation to step into the smial.

“Bilbo Baggins! Is this how you greet your dear cousin?” The female hobbit removed her hat and shook her head that so her curls came loose, then unceremoniously handed the yellow monstrosity to Bilbo.

“Hello Lobelia.” Bilbo barely managed to suppress a sigh which earned him a frown. “What brings you here?”

“Not much, not much. I just wanted to ask if I could borrow your ... why, who do we have here?” Lobelia said in stilted tone of surprise and blatantly peered at the two guests as she walked towards the kitchen.

“Um... I’ve got visitors from the dwarven kingdom of Erebor, Mister Thorin Oakenshield and Mister Dwalin.”

“Mister Dwalin? Does he not have a family name?” Lobelia asked.

“Just Mister Dwalin.” came the grunted response.

“Err, yes, that’s not uncommon among dwarrows. And here,” Bilbo gestured with little enthusiasm to his brightly dressed cousin, “may I introduce my cousin Lobelia Bracegirdle. Our great aunts were cousins thrice removed. Or at least so they claimed.” the hobbit added.

“Oh, who cares about the details, all that matters is that we are cousins that live close and are very close, isn’t that right, dear Bilbo?” Lobelia chirped as she removed her gloves and placed them on the kitchen counter. 

Bilbo nodded through gritted teeth. “Of course.”

Lobelia walked to the cupboards where she helped herself to a cup and saucer and then opened the cutlery drawer. “Now where is my favourite spoon?” she mumbled, rummaging around until Bilbo who had followed her reached over her shoulder and with an exasperated huff pulled out one of his family’s silver teaspoons and handed it to her. 

“Thank you very much, cousin!” she accepted with a beaming smile before she pulled up a chair to sit at the table and poured herself a cup of tea and topped it off with two heaping spoonfuls of sugar.

“So,” she started without any preamble as she took her first sip and cast a calculated glance at the silent dwarrows, “What brings you here to the Shire? Can’t imagine it being our lush greens and peaceful pastures, right? Working on a new trade agreement with the Thain I suppose?”she pried without reserve while Bilbo came to stand stand behind her, rolling his eyes with annoyance.

“We came here to pay our respects to the Thain and yes, to discuss new mutually beneficial agreements.” Thorin squeezed out reluctantly when the nosy hobbit would not stop looking at him.

“What is your interest in this?” demanded Dwalin and in true royal guarding style, looked her up and down, gaging the level of danger she might pose to the dwarven king.

“Just the same amount of interest any Shire resident should take in keeping their homes and families safe.” Lobelia returned in a haughty tone, tilting her chin up so she could look down her nose at him.

“M’lady,” the tattooed warrior spat out, “do you accuse us of planning ill intent toward hobbits?”

“How would I know?” Bilbo’s cousin retorted, her nostrils flaring a touch. “You dwarrows are such a secretive race; you hide in your camp out in the fields, only speaking to the Thain and his wife while ignoring everyone else. Why, I wouldn’t put it past you folks if you ... ”

“Lobelia!” Bilbo interjected, his face hot with embarrassment. “Thorin and Dwalin are my guests, and I will not allow you to disrespect them under my roof. In fact, if you do not leave right this moment, I will make sure to send a strongly worded letter to grandfather Took about your rude interrogation of the dwarven dignitaries.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” spat his cousin.

“Oh, I mean it Lobelia. Get out. Now, please.” Bilbo marched back to the front door and pointedly opened it.

“Fine!” Lobelia set her cup of tea back down on the saucer with a heavy clink. “Don’t expect me to come running next time you need help, cousin.”

“As if you ever did.” Bilbo shook her head as he closed the door behind her with a firm thud. “Lives closest to Bag End, yet always shows up last when something needs to be done.  Unless it’s a party, then she is unfailingly early.”

Dwalin who had risen from the bench when the hostile words started, sat back down next to Thorin who continued to calmly drink his tea. “What a vexing woman.”

“She certainly is.” The king agreed. They both looked at Bilbo who shrugged his shoulders and sighed.

\---

It was only later in the evening when Bilbo noticed that something was amiss. 

Not just amiss but most definitely missing was a pair of his mother’s favourite tea spoons, the very ones that they had been using every day. He only noticed their disappearance when he prepared his nightly tea.

With the young ones already asleep in bed and Dwalin smoking his pipe outside near the shed, Thorin grew bored as he sat alone in the living room. When he padded into the kitchen to see what might take his host so long to return, he found Bilbo going through his drawers in a rush and tearing apart their contents. The counter was piled high with a various assortment of cutlery and cooking knick knacks. The dwarrow picked up a funny looking colourful stick that looked a lot of a tiny backscratcher and watched his host’s frantic search. 

“Master Baggins, are you looking for something?” The dwarrow asked, then almost immediately chided himself for asking such an obvious question.

“My... my spoons! I can’t find them!”

“Spoons?” echoed Thorin with confusion as he watched Bilbo attack the cupboards next.

“My silver spoons! My favourite spoons, the ones ...” The hobbit stopped for a second to take a deep breath and look at the dwarrow, who just continued to look at him in a questioning manner, “the ones my mother loved so much. My father gave them to her for their first wedding anniversary. They... they are quite special to me.” Bilbo finished while he resumed his activity.

“Hm.” Thorin contemplated the scene in front of him, uncertain how to ‘defrenzy’ a hobbit - with dwarrows it was usually just a matter of yelling, fighting or restraining them until they calmed down but his gut told him that the dwarven way would not be tolerated well at Bag End or anywhere in the Shire, for that matter. So instead he picked up the cups of tea and quietly tiptoed back to the living room where he sat down with one of the cups in his hands and waited - he was unsure for what.

“Aren’t you going to help me find them?” Bilbo’s voice streamed in from the kitchen, and Thorin jumped up and made his way back to the kitchen. 

Unfortunately, Thorin’s additional assistance did not yield any more success in the search, and Bilbo had to concede to going to bed without locating the two missing family heirlooms.

It was not a surprise when the hobbit was still flustered the next morning. Over breakfast he blurted out a theory that he had come up with overnight.

“I’m sure it was her!”

“Hmm?” Dwalin looked up while he made short work of the stack of pancakes on his plate.

“My cousin Lobelia! The one from yesterday, remember? She’s always envied me for Bag End, and remember how she fawned over ‘ _ her favourite spoon _ ’ yesterday? That... that thief! How dare she burgle from me?” The level of bristling from the hobbit managed to shake the princes out of their morning stupor.

“What happened, Uncle Bilbo?” Frodo inquired, his curiousity piqued as well.

“Ah, never you mind, Frodo. Just watch your toys next time Aunt Lobelia is here, I would not put it past her to... “

“Master Baggins,” Thorin spoke up, hoping to stem the angry tide’s progression. “Hurling accusations without any proof is not wise. We can investigate this matter as thoroughly as possible right after we finish breakfast, and once we have done a little digging we can tell the little ones more about it.”

“Little ones!” Fíli exclaimed in horror. “We are so close to maturity! Frodo may still be considered a little one but - ouch!” He rubbed his shin as Frodo glared at him and continued, “but Kíli and I are big enough to help with whatever it is that is upsetting Master Bilbo so much. Especially since we are almost as tall as our esteemed hobbit.”

“Enough.” Bilbo’s stony tone quieted the conversation. “I will deal with this as  _ I  _ see fit. You are guests and should  not let yourselves be bothered by this dreadful situation.” 

“If you wish us to do so.” Thorin nodded, using his eyes to warn his boys to stay out of it.

“Yes.” Before anyone could stop him, Bilbo had stormed out of the kitchen and out of the smial, running down the path to his front gate. Thorin cursed soundly as Frodo looked at him wide-eyed. Then the king took off after his host, leaving a still-eating dwarven warrior with three young gaping inhabitants. Dwalin continued to ingest his breakfast, gesturing at the fledglings to remain seated and to finish their morning meal. 

\---

“Master Baggins. Bilbo!” Thorin felt extremely self-conscious as he ran down the path. A few of the residents on The Hill had stopped their morning pursuits and turned toward him with a suspicious look; others still stared at the disappearing back of their neighbour. Instead of trying to explain the odd behaviour he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, worried that one misstep or fall would just magnify the gossip that was sure to develop. 

Indeed Lobelia lived not too far from Bag End, or Thorin would have gotten himself lost among the rolling grassy hills. He actually lost sight of the hobbit towards the end of the pursuit but by then he could hear Bilbo’s raised voice tumbling out of the open entrance of a smial that had an ivy covered door frame and laced outdoor curtains that barely distracted from the deep fuchsia coloured round door.

An older lady hobbit sat in front of the smial in a grand wicker armchair and knitted calmly but it was obvious that she was preoccupied with following the heated conversation inside. Thorin bowed to her and entered the home, his hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed dagger.

“Just admit it, Lobelia!” Bilbo bellowed.

“Admit what? For heaven’s sake...”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know! If you had any decency you would confess this instant.”

“What on earth are you talking about, Bilbo?  _ And stop yelling at me! _ ”

“What did you do with my spoons? You know, the ones my father gave to my mother!”

“Bilbo, have you lost your mind? Are you accusing me of taking them?”

“I don’t see anyone else in here who was at my home yesterday salivating over them, and there is no one in the Shire who covets them as much as you do!”

“You cannot possibly be serious! Why, I would have never believed that you could be even ruder than yesterday! What gives you the right to march over here and throw these nasty accusations at me in my OWN HOME?”

Thorin would have preferred a moment to catch his breath but he thought it too big a risk to take. So he inhaled deeply before he stepped between the two hobbits and raised his arms placatingly. “Excuse me.”

“WHAT??” Two agitated hobbits shouting at him at the exact same time was more menacing than he had anticipated. The royal dwarrow felt a shiver run down his spine but braced himself and crossed his arms with determination before he continued.

“I’d like to make a suggestion. If I may?” To which the glaring hobbits gave terse nods.

“Master Baggins here is deeply distressed because items in question are very dear to him. You can surely understand why he is so upset. He does not mean to accuse anyone of theft, however, I am thinking, perhaps you  _ could _ help him narrow down the possible locations of those spoons. To make sure that they were not accidentally  _ misplaced _ , you see, we could, well, let him take a look in your kitchen drawers. Just to alleviate his anguish, you know?”

“I have to do nothing to alleviate his inane and irrational anguish.” Lobelia huffed out but her anger had diminished to the point where Thorin almost thought that he saw something resembling pity on her face.

“To help your poor distressed irrational cousin?” Thorin entreated.

“Wait, what? Now you see here, you ... you ... confounded ... ridiculous...” Bilbo stuttered, his eyes blazing anew.

“You see?” Thorin quickly added, pushing himself in front of his hobbit host. “The sooner you will allow him to check that there is nothing here, the quicker he will calm down and return to Bag End with me.”

“Oh, FINE! Anything to stop him from acting crazy like this!” Lobelia snapped. “But hurry, I have little patience for any more of my cousin’s shenanigans. And he better not put any of my cutleries or dishes in any sort of disarray!”

Thorin nodded and grabbed Bilbo’s elbow to deftly steer him towards the cupboards and drawers. He whispered into the hobbit’s ear. “Stop arguing and look for your spoons quickly, for Mahal’s sake. You have no proof so this is the best chance you’ll get here.”

Bilbo yanked his elbow out of the dwarrow’s grip but did not say anything further and systematically started to look through the kitchen.

True to his word, they left Lobelia and her mother’s smial a few moments later. Bilbo was still fuming from having to admit to his ‘baseless accusations’ while Thorin used all his regal charms to apologize profusely to the two female hobbits before he followed Bilbo back to Bag End.

\---

“Ah, there you are. Finally.” Dwalin emerged from the kitchen and wiped his mouth on his sleeve as Thorin and Bilbo returned. The burly dwarrow radiated the kind of quiet satisfaction only achieved by a delicious meal and the knowledge of being spared from drama. “You two ran off so quickly that I had no chance to say anything. Miss Lobelia did not take those spoons. I know that because I saw her put them in the sink before you kicked her out of the house yesterday.”

“I couldn’t find them at her place.” mumbled Bilbo unhappily. “No worries though, I’ll find them. I’ll prove to you that she took it.”

“Believe me, she did not take them because I found the culprits who did.” Dwalin stuck his head back into the kitchen and barked an order: Out shuffled Kíli, Fíli and Frodo, looking mightily guilty. The young dwarrows each held out a teaspoon to the hobbit, their faces filled with contrition.

Dwalin gave each of the princes a heavy pat on their shoulders and waggled his finger at the fauntling, then grabbed his axes. “Well, I’m going to the back to work off that breakfast. Would do me no good if I returned to Erebor with a belly.” He patted his full stomach and looked expectantly at Thorin who sighed and followed him out the back door with his sword.

Bilbo took the spoons and hustled the kids back into the kitchen. He placed the missing spoons on the table in front of them, stepped back and looked at them with consternation, trying to gather the words that he wanted to say to them.

“What is the meaning of this, boys?”

“We ... we borrowed them, Mister Bilbo.”

“Borrowed, you say? Then why did not not tell me that you had them when I was looking for them all over the smial?”

“We were going to ask you, we swear. But we forgot, and when we remembered again you were so mad already...,”

“We thought it would be best to try and sneak them back into the drawer but then Kíli dropped and stepped on one of them, and he bent it...”

“And I told them that you would never forgive us because they were your mum’s spoons, and they got even more scared and wanted to go get it fixed...”

“Frodo Baggins! I am very disappointed that you decided to withhold the truth and on top of it, talked your friends into it keeping it from me. There will be no desserts for you today, and I’ll have to think about an appropriate punishment for you in the morning.”

“What about Fíli and Kíli?”

“They will be dealt with by their uncle. When he gets back.”

“But that’s not fair!” Frodo stomped with both his feet, his eyes burning bright. “They shouldn’t get any dessert either.”

“They are our guests, and it is your responsibility to keep them safe and trouble free in the Shire. And I will not have you speak back to me. Please go to your room.”

“ _ Menu shirumund _ ,” mumbled the little hobbit.

“What did you just say to me?” Bilbo’s eyes narrowed but Frodo had already rushed by him and slammed the door to his room. When the older hobbit looked at the two young dwarven guests, their eyes were round as saucers and their lips pressed together forcefully. They looked as if they were about to explode.

Bilbo sighed. “I suggest that you two also go to your room and stay there until your uncle and Dwalin are done with their practice.”

“Yes, Bilbo.” - ”At once.”

And off the two princes went, rushing into their room and closing the door with the gentlest thud.

\--- 

An hour later, when Dwalin and Thorin walked back into the smial, Bilbo was not having it.

“Please wipe that satisfied smirkikng off your face,  _ Your Majesty _ .”

“Wha- I am not smirking?”

“You most certainly look like Dwalin after he found the last batch of cookies. If this is not one of the smuggest smiles I have seen on you, then I shall no longer call myself a hobbit.” 

There was a barely suppressed grunt of amusement: Dwalin focused hard on the floor between his feet while he carefully shuffled sideways to pass behind Thorin until he had a clear path to the kitchen. “I.. um, need to do something. In the kitchen. Alright then.” And off he went.

“So how do you intend to deal with your nephews, oh wise leader?”

“Why is it of your concern, Master Hobbit?”

“Why? They need to be punished for lying. I have already taken care of my nephew.”

“What was Frodo’s punishment?” Thorin inquired.

“No desserts today, with more punishment to be determined the next morning.”

“Very well. Kíli and Fíli shall not get any desserts either.”

“Thorin!”

“What? You  _ just  _ told me that I have to punish them!”

“Yes... but you have to come up with your own punishment!”

“But it’s a very good punishment! I shall go right now and tell them.”

“Thorin!!”

“What now? You are truly a confounding creature!”

“What is the rest of the punishment?”

“Tell me how you want to punish Frodo, and I will penalize my nephews in the same manner.”

“You can’t just mimic me, Thorin! At the least we should come up with a punishment together.”

“Is this really necessary, Master Baggins? I have never had to make up a way to punish them - my sister always came up with them.” The king exhaled and blinked at the hobbit innocuously, hoping that the other would laugh and offer to take the lead.

“Yes, alright. No wait, it’s not right.” Bilbo objected. “Why don’t  _ you _ take the day and come up with an appropriate way to teach the kids a lesson, and  _ I _ shall inform Frodo that the same punishment will apply to him. That suits me quite fine actually since I am tired and would like to go take a nap. See you later,  _ Thorin _ .”

“Alright.” mumbled the dwarrow. He had a feeling that any further conversation with the hobbit might result in a rather lengthy lecture on his capabilities as a responsible uncle so he wisely kept his mouth shut.

\--- 

The next morning Bilbo took no time to announce that he and Thorin had come to an agreement on what was an appropriate penance for the theft of the silver spoons.

“Thorin?”

“Mmh, yes.” Thorin scratched his beard. “Before I do that, I would like to know why you took the spoons in the first place. What instigated this?”

Fíli, Kíli and Frodo looked at each other. Fíli responded, “Well, Frodo told us about about the tree amber in the Shire and how it could be turned into the most beautiful jewelry.”

“And... and we thought that it would be a great if we could harvest some and make a necklace for mom.” Kíli added.

Frodo completed the story. “I told them that we needed something thin and long to scoop it out of the trees. Uncle Bilbo’s spoons were the best shape for it so I thought we could borrow a couple for a short while and put them back afterwards.”

Thorin hummed as he thought about their explanation. “Did it work?”

“Thorin!” Bilbo protested.

Thorin ignored the hobbit and repeated the question. “Well, Frodo?”

“We have not had a chance to try it out yet, Master Thorin.” Frodo said dutifully. “Uncle Bilbo found out that they were missing before we had a chance to go.”

“Hmm. I may have a better tool for you. Wait here.” The dwarrow marched into his guestroom with a flabbergasted Bilbo staring after him.

Thorin returned but a minute later, handing a long metal tongue with curved ends to his oldest nephew. “Here, use this to collect the amber. I think it will be more than suitable for this task.”

“Thorin. The punishment?” Bilbo tapped his foot.

“Hmm? Yes, of course, the punishment. You’ll bring enough amber back to make something for Master Baggins, and you will present it to him when it’s ready along with a sincere and well thought out apology.”

“Yes, uncle.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You may call me Uncle Thorin if you like, Frodo.” 

The little hobbit beamed. “Yes, Uncle Thorin.”

“May we be excused?” Kili was eager to go

“Yes, unless your uncle has something else to say?” Thorin looked at Bilbo for assurance.

The hobbit rolled his eyes, then waved them off. “Just go. Don’t cause any more trouble, do you hear me?”

“Yes. We are sorry but we’ll make it up to you, promise! Bye!” The sound of their feet pattering against the floor and the closing of the front door caused Bilbo to shake his head with an indulgent smile.

Thorin watched him, his expression curious.

“What?” the hobbit raised his eyebrows.

“I don’t know how you do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“How you are so open with your love and care for them. How easy it is for you let them off the hook and yet in return, they give you the utmost respect and courtesy.”

Bilbo blushed at the tone of admiration that tinged the dwarrow’s words. “It... it’s nothing, really.”

“Oh, I disagree. I have never seen my nephews so considerate and well-mannered. You brought out a side in them that I never thought they possessed.”

“Oh.” Bilbo pondered for a moment. “I merely expect them to figure out what kind of person they want to be.”

“Well, you are remarkable.” It was Thorin’s turn to blush: Handing out personal compliments were not in his normal nature but Bilbo somehow managed to draw out words from his mouth before his brain had a chance to intervene.

Luckily the hobbit accepted it with a simple shrug and humble smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Menu shirumund (Khuzdul) - You are beardless.


	6. Stalemate. Or: My place or yours?

Thanks to Thorin the three treasure hunters returned wearing happy smiles when they brought back a haul of beautiful amber that they  showed off with no small amount of pride to anyone who risked an inquiring glance.  It was the perfect opportunity for this as one of the Thain’s great grandchild’s (Bilbo’s cousin’s infant daughter) birthday celebration was happening under the big party tree in the middle of Hobbiton. Frodo dragged the dwarven princelings away from the Bag End adults in no time, and they stood at the far end of the party with a large group of fauntlings, making big gestures which were surely accompanying their stories of the Old Forest and displaying their shiny found treasures to excited admirations. 

Fortinbras joined his Baggins cousin who sat under the party tree sated and satisfied, puffing away on his pipe while he watched Thorin and Dwalin paying their respects to the Thain and his wife. “So, Bilbo, you’ve got some guests from Erebor in Bag End.”

“Yes, the princes of Erebor and Frodo have struck a fast and close friendship. I could not bear to see them be separated so soon after they met - so yes, I am hosting a few from the dwarven delegation in my home.” He took a puff and created a big ring of smoke before he admitted, “Not that I mind it at all. I find myself quite enjoying their visit.”

“Oh?” Fortinbras extended his hand, waiting for Bilbo to pass over his pipe. “What happened to all that ‘I like my solitude and Frodo is afraid of strangers’ talk that you are normally so fond of, hm?”

Bilbo relinquished his smoke and leaned back against the trees, closing his eyes. “I still do, and he still is. But ... I don’t know why, but these dwarrows are more than just visitors. Fíli and Kíli have been treating Frodo like a little brother with all that outpouring of love and care, and Thorin,” the hobbit chuckled, “well, in some ways he reminds me of grandfather Baggins.  So moody that you never know if you catch him on a good or bad day but when you get to know him better you see that there is such a deep love and devotion to his family.” He smiled with such fondness that Fortinbras sat up and smacked him on his arm. 

“Cousin Bilbo! Are you harbouring some secret fancy for a certain grumpy dwarrow?”

Bilbo opened his eyes in alarm. “Shhh! Don’t you go around starting nasty gossip about me. There is nothing that is harboured or fancied here, you hear me? Oh blasted damnation.”  

Dwalin and Thorin were walking towards them.

“Do you have any good pipeweed stuffed away in your pockets, Mister Bilbo? Thorin forced me to make polite small talk about knitting and yarns while he chatted with the Thain so I think I deserve a quality smoke.” Dwalin grumbled while he searched his own pockets in vain.

“Here, take some of mine. I don’t have enough for both of you but Bilbo might be willing to share his pipe.” Fortinbras offered his pipeweed pouch to the towering dwarrow, then turned toward his cousin and give him a lascivious slow wink. Luckily the dwarrows could not see this as the hobbit had his back turned to them but they saw Bilbo turn red as a tomato and snatch his pipe back from his cousin.

“Are you alright, Master Baggins?” Thorin inquired, watching with mild surprise the shaky back of Bilbo’s relative and the way his host’s eyes were suddenly directed at everything but his own.

“Sure, sure, nothing’s wrong. Why would there be anything wrong what with the lovely weather we are having today and the lovely birthday party at the party tree and the wonderful company...” and he fell silent, apparently having run out of breath and finding himself struggling to take in shallow breaths.

“Especially wonderful for one roy... uff.” mumbled Dwalin while he stuffed his pipe, pointedly ignoring the fact that it was Thorin’s sharp elbow that had dug into his side.

“...a truly wonderful stay offered a very gracious host.” The dwarven king pulled a small box out from the folds of his coat and held it toward the curly-haired hobbit. “Here.”

“What is it?” Bilbo stared at the box in surprise.

“It’s a token of my gratitude for allowing us to stay at Bag End, Master Baggins.” He opened the lid of the box to present his gift with the hobbit with no small amount of pride.

“Is that a ... a sapphire?” Bilbo sputtered.

“Yes. Its colour suits you quite well, and I thought you might want to have it made into a piece of jewelry, a brooch, or a belt buckle...”

“You offer me a gem?”

Bilbo’s facial expression gave Thorin pause. “Err, of course it’s only part of our appreciation. I’m sure the lads plan to compensate -”

“Compensate?” Bilbo squawked. “Is this what you think of me? That I’m keeping some ... some sort of inn, and that I would want some kind of payment?”

“But... no... “ Thorin’s hands faltered a little, and the confusion on his face paired with his rather limb arms had Dwalin bracing himself for some drama.

The hobbit grabbed the dwarrow’s hand and closed his fingers around the box with determination. “I do not accept! Why do you dwarrows always have to make it about material things.” He wanted to grumble out more of this opinion but found that he had lost the steam, and so he just uttered a final “ugh” and marched off. 

Thorin looked at Fortinbras who looked equally surprised at his cousin’s reaction. 

“Um. I’m sorry - Bilbo can be a bit touchy at times. Don’t take it to heart. He’ll calm down once he remembers that you cannot possibly know much about hobbit courtesy.”

“Is this something that hobbits find offensive?” 

“Well, when we invite someone to stay with us, we show that we value them and trust them to respect us in return. To offer money to a hobbit host is a gesture of ill will.” 

“But it’s not money, it’s a gem!”

“It’s very valuable. If you want to express your gratitude as a guest, you give something pretty but not of much monetary value, a mathom of sort.”

“A mathom?”

“Yes, like a wood carving or something to hang in the windows. Or something perishable, like ale, cheese or flowers.” Fortinbras corrected himself quickly. “No no no, don’t give flowers, it’s too risky.”

“Risky?” Now it was Dwalin’s turn to ask.

“Very much so if you do not understand the language of flowers. You could be giving Bilbo flowers that tell him that you think that he has a thin soles, or worse, you might accidentally wish him a weak stomach.” Fortinbras looked serious even as Dwalin and Thorin were chuckling at the outrageous insults, and he continued. “I suggest that you apologize to him before the night is over.”

“Will he not understand that we meant no insult?”

“He might forgive you without an apology but I think a talk would certainly be necessary. Hobbits like to clear the air, so to speak.”

“Thank you, Master Hobbit.”

“It’s nothing. I’m Fortinbras Took II, by the way.”

“Thank you, Master Took.”

“Call me Fortinbras, please. And if you have not done so, I suggest that you switch to calling Bilbo by his first name if you want to remain friends with him.”

“Oh.  Thank you... Fortinbras. I appreciate you telling us all this. I really do.”

“Glad to help.” Fortinbras beamed at the dwarrows and left.

\---

As Dwalin and Thorin approached Bag End, they could hear two familiar voices, loud and agitated. Inside, they found Bilbo and Lobelia arguing with Bilbo holding something between his fingers that looked suspiciously like a white napkin riddled with holes.

“How could you possibly walk away with my mother’s doily by accident, Lobelia? How??”

“I already said that I am sorry, Bilbo! I brought it back, didn’t I?” Lobelia scoffed. “After your mad outburst at my smial could have refused to enter your house again or throw the doily into the fireplace but I thought I’d do the honorable thing and return what is not mine.”

“You took it in the first place!!”

“Not on purpose, you dumdum!”

“Oh yeah? Perhaps you took it and then got scared when you thought that someone would find it in your house!”

“What would I do with an old doily, Bilbo, tell me? What use would I possibly have for one of your doilies when I have plenty of them, all of them of much better quality than any of yours!”

“You... You!” Bilbo’s face had turned purple, and he looked ready to launch himself at his cousin. Thorin and Dwalin just needed to exchange one look between each other before the guard scooped Bilbo up and toward the kitchen, insisting in a booming voice that he was thirsting for a hot cocoa this very moment while Thorin corralled the other angry hobbit into the living room and into one of the armchairs.

“Let me go, you brute!” Lobelia complained as she glared at the regal dwarrow from her seat.

“I am neither restraining you nor keeping you prisoner in this home, Miss Lobelia. You are free to go as long as you will not engage Master Baggins in another fight right.”

“I had no intention to come here to fight with Bilbo! This stupid doily...”

“You took it because you wanted to see Dwalin again.” Thorin said softly.

“Why... that’s ridiculous, why would you say that? Most certainly not!” But when she saw that Thorin merely looked at her with kind eyes and his eyebrows raised, she stopped talking.

“My best friend’s head may be as thick as his arms, and Bilbo might have been too flustered to notice but I could see that you were intrigued by Dwalin when you dropped by Bag End yesterday.” Thorin smiled as smug as a cat.

“Oh, so it’s Bilbo now, is it?” was Lobelia’s retort, and Thorin cheeks grew heated.

“I haven’t... the point that I am trying to make it - if you wonder about Dwalin’s, well, ‘availability’, I can tell you that he is very much unattached. He isn’t one to know his own heart well until it stares him directly in the eyes.”

It was Lobelia’s turn to flush. “I take it that you mean to suggest that I should state my intentions as clearly as possible. Thank you, I suppose?”

“At your service, M’lady.” Thorin smiled showing his teeth and bowed with an exaggerated flourish which made the female hobbit flee with just a tiniest amount of panic in her steps.

\---

Thorin found the kitchen somewhat calm.

Dwalin sat near the window with his hands wrapped around Bilbo’s large cookie jar while the hobbit paced forth and back in the kitchen, mumbling several choice words about the ‘dreadful behaviours of bothersome hobbit relations’.

“If you feel that a lengthy break may be required to re-establish good family terms.... Have you perhaps considered visiting the Blue Mountains?” the dwarven king managed to casually mention, his insides warming up as he imagined a certain hobbit taking part in the upcoming Durin’s Day celebrations; deep golden curls reflecting the glimmer from the great fireplace in the large hall, and a certain bright laughter sounding through the stone corridors.

“Wha... my goodness, I cannot imagine... well, I am terribly flattered.” Bilbo smiled with unabashed joy. “I have to admit that I’ve wondered if it would be too forward of me to invite you and your entire family to stay at Bag End over the Yule holidays.”

“You’ve what?” 

“Was that too forward of me?” Bilbo’s concerned voice cut through the king’s internal chatter.

“No, Bilbo. It’s perfect.” They stared at each other, both surprised and at once delighted at the other’s thoughts of spending more time together.

“Bilbo, as our stay is drawing to an end, I hope you will feel the same if I say that I very much wish to discuss future visits between the Shire and Ered Luin as a way to ... to foster better relations between our people.”

There was a loud snort that clearly originated by the kitchen window. 

Thorin ignored Dwalin and continued. “The time that we had at your home and your friendship would be something I would like to nurture into a .... deeper friendship.” which prompted another sound, this one a snigger, which again, went ignored by the other two.

“I’d like that very much.” the hobbit admitted, his gaze averted.

“Well, that’s very good!” Thorin suppressed a relieved groan.

“Then that’s settled. What’s for dinner?” Dwalin got up from his spot and set the now empty cookie jar on the table, patted Bilbo on the shoulder and sauntered towards the pantry in search of ideas for the next meal.

Thorin leveled a look at his host. “You know that your cousin Lobelia has taken an interest to him, right?” 

“What? No!” Bilbo’s gobsmacked expression had Thorin laughing in earnest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meh. That's how this chapter feels like. Hope to improve it at a later time.
> 
> Just a reminder: in this series, Dwalin is 98 (around 33 in human years; 26 years younger than Thorin - canon compliant); Lobelia is 33 (21 in human years)


	7. The Kids are Alright. Or: This is so not a typical vacation.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No dillydallying - on to the last chapter of this story, quickly!

Bilbo won the bet: It was only half of an hour before Lobelia returned to Bag End. 

She doggedly held out a package to Dwalin. The gift was wrapped in lavender fabric and purple-green ribbons, and the tattooed warrior stared at it as if it might explode the second that he touched it.

Bilbo had to hide behind Thorin’s back and do his damndest to suppress his giggles which would surely break up the tender-awkward moment as Dwalin finally accepted the package by the tips of his fingers with the face of a man who had surrendered his life to a high-risk, death courting venture. He placed the package on a nearby table and set to carefully unwrapping it to find a light grey knitted wool vest, complete with delicate vine embroideries, velvety pockets and brass tassels.

“It matches your eyes.” Lobelia admitted in an unusually soft voice, with coy eyes trained on her hands that fumbled with the buttons on her own cardigan. Thorin almost lost it when he saw his friend’s helpless eyes which followed the movements of her restless hands, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

“Has he courted before?” whispered Bilbo near Thorin’s ear, and the dwarrow jerked his head up in surprise. He reflexively used Bilbo’s shoulder to steady himself and blushed with the sudden realization of how physically close they were. He gave his head a slight shake.

“Miss Lobelia.” Dwalin’s voice rumbled with some tremors. “I cannot accept the gift.”

“You cannot, or you will not?” came back her response. Its tone was tinted with the beginnings of a quiet hurt.

“I ... we... ach.” Dwalin let his head drop into his palms for a moment. “It ... it is not the dwarven way. We, well, I cannot - it would be most disrespectful and shameful for a dwarrowdam to offer the first gift.”

“Well, that’s not a problem then.” Lobelia heaved. “I’m not a dwarrowdam, am I? And you are not a hobbit but it is the hobbit lass’ way to gift a handmade piece of clothing to a gentleman if they wished to express an interest in spending some time with him.”

Thorin’s shocked gape as he silently mouthed ‘gentleman?’ forced Bilbo to push one of his fists firmly into his mouth to prevent an outburst.

“Wait.” Lobelia’s forehead frowned in confusion. “What exactly do you mean by ‘first gift’?”

“Uhh -”

“He means to say that he was too much of a thick skulled oaf to read his own inklings, and that he should have made the first move before you gifted him.” Thorin added with exaggerated helpfulness.

“Thorin, mind your own damn - “ came Dwalin’s beginnings of a growl before it was cut off by a very unladylike squeal.

“You... you harbour feelings ... for me?” Her eyes were round and wide, and Bilbo was reminded of the Lobelia that had once been one of the most charming and appealing hobbit girls in all of the Shire, before she had let the relentless fussiness and narrow-mindedness of her parents overpower her innate kindness and made her into the anxiety-driven, calculating lass of the present.

Seeing that Dwalin was still too stunned to respond with actual sentence (or words, for that matter), Bilbo managed to get his emotions back under control and emerged with determination from behind Thorin. He took the hands of both Dwalin and Lobelia and pulled them to the sitting room and into two of the armchairs. 

After which where he promised to return with a cup of something warm and settling if they agreed to stay seated and talk once they they had recovered sufficiently 

Alas, as it was the norm at Bag End, the talk did not happen as planned.

\---

“Uncle Thorin, Uncle Thorin! Uncle Bilbo!”

“Kili!” Thorin rushed and yanked the front door open.

Kíli raced into the smial. “Frodo... he’s in trouble!”

The dark-haired dwarrowling was followed close at his heels by his brother who threw himself over the threshold of Bag End and fell forward ontohis knees inside the smial’s hallway. In Fíli’s arms lay the small and far-too-still form of their favourite faunt, his eyes closed and his face paled into a ghostly sheen.

“Frodo?!” Bilbo hurried over to the blond prince and brushed his nephew’s sweaty curls from his forehead before he gently lifted one of Frodo’s eyelids and peered with great worry at his eye. “What happened??”

“The mushrooms! We were picking mushrooms in the forest when Frodo fainted.  We haven’t been able to wake him up since. His breathing has been shallow and struggling, I’m not sure if he is getting enough air into his lungs.” Fíli explained in a fearful voice.

“What kind of mushrooms?” Bilbo asked.

“I have them here!” Kíli thrusted a bundle at the older hobbit who opened it and peered inside.

“These do not cause poisoning. They are Black Trumpets, extremely uncommon except in ... WHERE did you get these?” Bilbo suddenly demanded to know.

Fíli gave his brother a warning look but it was too late. “The old forest. We wanted to surprise everyone with them for dinner. That’s where we also found the amber....”

“Why did you go to the old forest? It’s TOO DANGEROUS for you children!” Bilbo roared, a surprisingly terrifying sight from which the two princes cowered.

Thorin’s worry rose further but he was also aware of the amount of panic his nephews exhibited. “Bilbo, please calm down.” 

“I am calm!! It... it can’t be the mushrooms - we’ve had plenty of these before.” Bilbo squeezed the mushroom bundle as he rocked forth and back on his toes before he slumped down to the floor, reaching for his nephew. “Oh Frodo, what happened to you? You’re safe at home, please, please wake up!” Fíli gathered the fauntling’s body and slid him into Bilbo’s outstretched arms.

Kíli turned to his uncle and begged. “Uncle, please, you must believe us. We did not do anything bad. We were walking and picking mushrooms when Frodo ran off to find a bush to do his business. Next thing we know, there is a rustling sound behind us, a choked cry, and then we found him on the ground out cold.”

“I think Frodo’s holding something” Dwalin and Lobelia stood in the hallway and were staring at the fauntling’s right hand - it had fallen off of Bilbo’s lap. Despite Frodo’s unconsciousness his hand was still clenched into a tight fist, and when Lobelia tried to gently pry it open the dark-haired youngling jolted up. His eyes opened in wide terror but they were unseeing, and he began to emit a high-pitched scream that curdled everyone’s blood.

“Thorin, what do we do?” Bilbo cried in fear. “I have never seen him like this!”

“Kíli, Fíli, find Roäc and send word to Tharkȗn quickly - he was supposed to meet us in Bree and should not been far from here. Hurry!” 

The two young dwarrows sped off in a mad dash.

Thorin approached Bilbo who struggled to keep Frodo’s flailing from hurting anyone and himself, and after a short hesitation, the dwarrow bend down to scoop up the hobbit and his nephew and carried them into Bilbo’s bedroom. Dwalin and Lobelia followed closely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. I am soo sorry for leaving you all hanging! This is how it was in the original draft, and it still feels like the right thing to do but the good news is that I know how the next story begins. I haven't worked out the entire plot for story 2 yet but I'll promise that I'll start releasing the next chapters as soon as I can.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: None of these characters are invented by me, and I claim nothing in this excellent universe. Thanks to Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens (and their entire team) the pre-LOTR era has taken on quite a special life on its own in my head. Think of this as my personal joy of playing with my favourite Middle Earth characters. Thanks!


End file.
